Lord,
       God of many names
       I come as a pagan
        So that the right One
       Might hear my moans....

You are not a God that is either
Republican or Democrat,
You are partisan and unheeding
To their propaganda,
You do not need the popular vote,
Nor do you speak lies in speeches.

About the monsters You left in charge....

They speak sweet nothings in Your name
While they rush to cameras when
A thousand die.
They secretly take in the money
For the poor and raise funds
For their bunkers when the
Day of Reckoning comes.
    With their atomic know how
And the fear mongering tactics,
  Tney seek to rule me imperialistic,
They seek to destroy me moralistic.
    
    Will you deliver me from their policies,
   Save me from their budget cuts,
    Confuse their sinister programs?

When the day of final Judgement comes,
Send me an Angel,
Be my refuge from the socialist control,
Keep me safe from their propaganda
Mind alterating political promises,
Save me from their campaign commercials,
      Keep those who seek You
Under your safety and
Bullet proof vests.

You swear by life and its beauty
In ten thousand poems
And breathe the inescapeable moment
Purifying your existence
On this foreign plane.

You consume the fleeting mortality
In the dim half light that is time,
You make love with arrogance in youth
And butterflies in tow,
You recline in your chair
And remember the dry dust of days,
The procession of years on this
Great yin and yang flight.

And death is a sleepwalking dream
With intimate knowledge of your
Deepest desires and wants,
So that one version of you
Might tell the other version
Yet to be
to live life to its fullest
In the emptiness that surrounds all.

And the current on which death rides
Will take us to the door of wombs,
You will see the  Depths and the Heights
And pass the One
Into a flurry of ashes that pass
Like glittery dust,
And to die
Is but a rebirth,
Into the madness once more.

Did I win or lose?
Perhaps-maybe nature won.
One less spin cycle,
Gallons of life water saved.
In my intellectual hemitage
I find a difference can be made,
Oh underwear,
Spirit of nature,
First I wear you proper,
And the day is good.
I walk forward into the morrow
And turn the world backwards.
Yes the tag now goes to front,
And wedgies aside, all is well.
In the instantaneous moment
Ina departure of normalities,
Confronted with a bundle of reflections,
I move into day three,
Inside out.
The days have dispersed,
I wreak of the third day,
Still a difference has been made.
I take off the underwear,
Crispy and tainted,
With a lump in my throat
And a little hope I made a difference,
The underwear is sacrificed to the hamper.

Heavenly body,
Unseen like the unwritten,
Unkissed like the eclipse,
Down the pit of the universe....

There is a person here,
Alone in their sorrow,
Wishing on bright lights
And stuttering prayers,
They are alone in a dark
Few can see,
Alone in a way where no one
Can understand.

They opened the eyelids of the stars
And found there a lonely star,
Without beginning,
        Without end,
Without planets,
Without any friends.

And here a lonely heart does wish,
The star unseen like scripture
Cracked on a tablet of stone,
They have branded a star,
With a darkness so bright,
It matches the sadness in the heart.

.....Lo, forth I do march,
Hell's scorch fuels the ascendancy
Into solemn inner battle amongst
Myselves,
I am a poem at war with words,
The pen a bride like some spectral
Verbiage- luminosity antagonisong
The swell of ferocity, I do cling
As the audascious hope gathers its wounds
And scatters like petals in the furious winds,
The forbearance of that knife
Wielded within the self,
Self against self,
The battle rages against the heart,
Against the mind,
Down to the very soul!

In the craftmans tomb,
A poem floods the inner sanctum
And the march forward seems
Like a depression plowing
The fields of memory,
Oh what dreams may come
May also haunt.

And one drops many a word,
The war inside like flock
Of crows into the blinding light,
I still here could not give in,
The soul still battles its flesh....

So Im alive,
But I died a little inside.
Because I am dead
And now alive and reborn
Into a thousand words never written,
I will become no one again.
Did you metaphorically cry?
Sad as thinking how well
You truly knew me?

" But we were poets!"

And so you live and die by the
Stroke of the passionate lie
That are the words that well
Up inside like a brutal indignity,
Outraged at my shamelessness
Did I ever truly puncture your heart?
I am Ded inside,
And I dont know you,
But I just love your poetry!

So we sever the ties from reality
And divorce the facts
In a hopeful serenade to the deaf,
See how I magnify the ignorance
With brazeness?
Such splendid grandoisity!
And a poem is just a word,
There is no poem without action.
I am me,
No metaphor needed,
Just who the hell do you think
You are?

may i feel said he**


may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)